


This Might Take a Little More

by dorcassmeadowes



Series: The Witcher songfics [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Songfic, and they're really not good at doing anything with them, mostly happy, the boys just have A Lot of emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23927305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dorcassmeadowes/pseuds/dorcassmeadowes
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier stumble across each others' paths a year and a half after the incident on the mountain. Things aren't perfect, but they might just be on the mend.OR: Ciri has had enough of watching her new destiny-dad mourn over a lost love and so when they finally bump into Jaskier, she makes them have an actual grown up conversation.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher songfics [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724008
Comments: 2
Kudos: 168





	This Might Take a Little More

Jaskier and Geralt had met back up again eighteen months after their less than stellar parting on the side of a mountain. Their reunion had been awkward and uncomfortable for all parties. But Geralt had apologised. And Jaskier _believed_ him. There had been a strange note in Geralt's voice and a guarded look in his eyes and it had hit Jaskier like a punch in the gut (and he knew all about Geralt's gut punches) when he realised that Geralt was _scared_. Jaskier had only ever seen Geralt scared once before, and he had largely convinced himself that was a fever dream. But now he recognised it - those same eyes had looked down on Jaskier as his throat had been crushed under a djinn's curse, and that same voice had told a strange sorceress to fix him "whatever the cost."

So it had been uncomfortable, certainly. Geralt had rarely spoken about his emotions _before_ the dragon hunt, and so was really supremely bad at it. But he was making an effort. He was scared and grief stricken and, if Jaskier was being perfectly honest, he looked like a bit of a mess. And from the way Ciri was glancing between them with unguarded concern and just a little hope, he had also been acting like a bit of a mess. (And hadn't that been a surprise - Geralt had not only found his child surprised but seemed, for all intents and purposes, to _adore_ her.)

So Jaskier had sighed and informed his Witcher in no uncertain terms that if he ever so much as hinted at treating him like that again, Jaskier would be gone before the words could leave his mouth. And then they had hugged, and there was a great deal of relief and maybe the odd confession of love. (And then a much more in depth conversation about that love, once Ciri had gone to bed. They were somewhat tentative partner-type-things now? The thought still threw Jaskier for a loop; he had loved Geralt for years, had spent two decades pining after the man, and it turns out it had been requited the whole fucking time. They really were idiots.)

And so, on the Path, two became three. The Witcher, his new darling, dearest, destiny-daughter, and his bard. Jaskier tried to hide how elated he was at the thought, but he was pretty sure Geralt could smell it on him anyway, if the little fond and slightly baffled smiles the Witcher would shoot his way were any indication. There was still that creeping fear deep inside of him that Geralt might drive him off again and, if Jaskier was being completely honest, that would be a long time in fading. He trusted Geralt with his life, that much had not changed. But it would take some time for him to entrust his heart to the Witcher again.

But if one didn't look too closely, not that much appeared to have changed. They still travelled together, and Jaskier still wrote songs of the White Wolf. But if you paid close enough attention, you would realise that the tone of these songs had shifted slightly. Oh, sure, there were still plenty of epics and ballads about whichever mighty battle Geralt had had that week - Jaskier was really very good at writing those. But, increasingly, a patron at a tavern might notice how Jaskier's own love songs were slipped into performances. Some were fairly standard stuff - songs about the beauty and spirit of the bard's love, in varying degrees of raunchiness - but some felt different.

More introspective, more personal, more honest. Maybe a little bitter, or cautious. But the love was there all the same.

*

_Hope I'm not tired of rebuilding_

_’Cause this might take a little more_.

Jaskier had been remaking himself for his entire life. Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, had not come into the world quietly, rather screaming and tearing and _fighting_ (a sorceress had had to imbue his whole body with magic in an attempt to hold him still enough to check if he was healthy. She informed his parents that this may have an effect on how he grew, but they never felt it necessary to let their son know this. Jaskier hadn't realised yet how very little he actually aged.)

He had spent his childhood trying desperately to reshape himself into something his parents wanted him to be. He spent hours trying to be the perfect noble: he attended all his lessons; he held himself how his mother told him; he spoke the cold and callous words his father expected of him. But he still always came back to music. The only time he actually _enjoyed_ one of his classes was when he was allowed to hold his tiny child's lute in his arms and produce music so sweet he hadn't known it possible.

When Jaskier was fourteen, he politely told his father to go fuck himself. He tore down the foundations of Julian Alfred Pankratz, and rebuilt himself how _he_ wanted. Bright and cheerful and friendly, with music at the very centre of himself, and the carefully honed edge of his cruelty buried deep, deep, _deeper_ inside of him. (He rarely had need to use that side of him anymore, but it still came out occasionally, and each time it did, Jaskier felt sick to his stomach.) He made himself anew and, when he looked at the ruins of who he once was and the shaky foundations of who he wanted to be, he renamed himself, too. Something kind and innocent and harmless. Like a buttercup.

And thus the bard Jaskier was born.

He had had cause to remake himself may times after this over the years, although never quite so drastically. Lovers who abandoned him with a new scar in his heart, 'friends' at Oxenfurt who always felt need to inform him that he'd never get anywhere without being ruthless (fuck Valdo Marx, the self-righteous little tosser). They all had a hand in shaping him to who he was at a tavern in Posada where he spotted a Witcher brooding in the corner and immediately felt his heart shift.

Geralt himself had changed Jaskier, in many ways. Twenty years travelling with someone was bound to do that. Jaskier became better at working out how to shape his words best to who he was talking to, even when they didn't want to hear it. (He had learnt this, too, as a child, but with a rather different type of words. His father had taught him how to find every last weak spot in someone and go after them all with careful, devastating accuracy. Geralt helped him learn how to aim his affection in the same way.)

And, of course, Geralt had given Jaskier cause to rebuild his heart. Rebuild it with walls twice as high and three times as thick in the hopes that it wouldn't be torn asunder yet again. Outwardly he was no different - he was still bright and cheery and acted as if he had fallen in love with everyone who ever graced his bed. But he had changed. The earth beneath himself had shifted, and parts of himself he had buried so long ago were closer to the surface. Julian was nearer, and Jaskier was left colder as a result.

And now he was working on rebuilding himself yet again. Taking down those walls, brick by brick, while also trying to repair the relationship he had with Geralt, and take it on to be something _more_ than either of them had ever dared to hope.

So yes. It really was a _lot_ of rebuilding.

_I think I'd like to try look at you_

_And feel the way I did before._

Geralt had loved Jaskier for honestly far longer that he was willing to admit. He knew that life on the Path wasn't easy. He worried for Jaskier every single moment they were together, and he was worried that, if he admitted to the bard how he felt, Jaskier would spend more time with him and be even more at risk. And Geralt would never forgive himself if he were the reason Jaskier got hurt. And so he had never told him how much he cared - how somewhere along the way, Jaskier's constant humming and singing and chatting had become _relaxing_ and on the days he wasn't there, Geralt found himself constantly on edge from the silence. He never let on how much he craved the nights where coin was short and they were forced to share a bed and he woke up to Jaskier wrapped around him like an octopus (Geralt was convinced some mornings that the bard had entirely too many limbs). He never confessed how deeply he loved, and instead rebuffed all offers of friendship and affection Jaskier offered. It was to protect him.

(And if that traitorous voice at the back of Geralt's mind whispered how he was actually hiding to protect himself and his own heart... Well. He'd been ignoring that voice for long before he met Jaskier.)

And he still loved Jaskier. He had never stopped. He had hated himself for how he treated the bard, but even when Jaskier had left and he'd been left on his own, Geralt had still loved him. But it was difficult now. Both of them ignored the thread of distrust that wove itself through Jaskier's heart and scent whenever they were together, even if it made Geralt want to cry and scream and hit something whenever he noticed it. That warm affection in his chest that had always been there when he looked at Jaskier was morphing in response. There was an edge to it. A caution.

And Geralt _hated_ it. He knew he had treated Jaskier abominably, and he knew he would never do that again ( _could_ never, now that he knew that everything he wanted was possible). But it still ached that Jaskier didn't fully trust him and was holding himself back. Geralt wanted nothing more than to be able to feel how he did before; that simple, uncomplicated warnth. But this time, he would be able to tell the bard how he felt. He would be able to touch, to hold, to _love_.

He knew it couldn't be that simple, of course. He couldn't think that he could treat Jaskier the way he did and then act as if everything was fine and dandy. But by the gods he was going to work every damn day to show Jaskier that he could trust him again. So he never again had to smell that putrid, sour _fear_ that had invaded Jaskier's scent on a mountain top a hundred leagues and half a lifetime ago.

_Oh, our fire died last winter._

_All of the shouting blew it out._

It had been mid-autumn when they had gone on that dragon hunt, the chill in the air just beginning to sharpen with the threat of frost. They had been discussing beforehand where they would spend the winter - Geralt was back off to Kaer Morhen, of course, and Jaskier had planned to head back to Oxenfurt. They even had tentative plans to meet again in the spring. And then that stupid argument (and Jaskier still called it an argument in his head, if only for the sake of his pride. He knew what it really was, of course. He himself hadn't done much shouting at all, but it was easier on both of them to pretend that he _had_ ). That argument that had shattered Jaskier's heart and left him to stumble down a mountain on his own to lick his wounds alone.

He carried his hope with him all the way to Oxenfurt, sure that one day he and Geralt would meet and travel again. He had swiftly been disabused of that notion once he reached the University - everyone could tell how heartbroken he was, and it wasn't difficult to connect the dots; he had spent half a lifetime travelling with a Witcher and finally returned broken in both heart and spirit. His peers had _jumped_ on the opportunity, informing him that there wasn't a chance he'd ever see his Witcher again (seriously, _fuck_ Valdo Marx). They're mutants, Jaskier was reminded, they're too cruel to forgive. Jaskier had cradled his little spark of hope for as long as he possibly could, but even he had to give in eventually.

In the bitter cold in a university full of cruel words and harsh truths, Jaskier gave up on seeing his Witcher again. Geralt had made it abundantly clear what he thought of Jaskier, and he was deluding himself if he thought for a moment that he might be taken back.

_You know I could live without or with you,_

_But I might like having you about._

Geralt had spent so many years telling Jaskier that he didn't like him, didn't want him, didn't need him.

"I need no one. And the last thing I want is someone needing me." The words had burned with dishonesty when Geralt had said them (Witchers hated lying. There was little point, when they could smell it on each other, and so they learnt to be always completely, perhaps brutally, honest).

And Geralt supposed this was one area where he had to be brutally honest. He could live without Jaskier, if necessary. And Jaskier could too. They had done it in those eighteen months after the mountain. But it had been easily the worst eighteen months of Geralt's life. He would ache with every reminder that he had lost his best friend: he always caught enough food for two, even before he found Ciri, and his heart sunk when he remembered he was the only one there to eat it; he found his hand twitching more often for his sword than it ever had before, and it took him three months to work out that what put him on edge was that blasted, endless _silence_ ; he found himself talking to Roach even more than he had before he met Jaskier, to try and pretend that he hadn't started his sentence expecting a response from the bard.

So yes, Geralt _could_ live without Jaskier. But he was miserable when he tried. He spent every waking moment wishing to the gods that he wasn't so damnably alone. And he wanted nothing more from his life that Jaskier might spend the rest of his days by his side, in this strange little family he has managed to carve out.

A Witcher, a bard, and a princess. It sounds like the start of a bad joke.

And Geralt wouldn't trade it for the world.

_Yes, these new walls are pretty hard to crack,_

_And it might take a while until I trust you won't attack._

Jaskier guarded his heart close, now, in a way he had never felt the need to before. At least not around Geralt. He had built himself a fortress to try to protect his fragile heart from more strain. But he knew that Geralt wasn't an idiot. He knew that the Witcher could smell how he held himself back, how he struggled to fully believe that he wouldn't be hurt again. And it hurt Jaskier to see how Geralt himself became more cautious himself in response. In all the many years they'd known each other, Jaskier had never seen Geralt be anything except completely, unapologetically himself. Yet now he walked on eggshells to try to convince Jaskier to take him back to how they once were.

It was a conversation they needed to have, Jaskier knew that. But it wasn't one he particularly wanted to rush. He knew that ugly things would be said, he couldn't hold that part of himself back indefinitely and it would come out when he tried to protect himself from more cruel words. But he just hoped that Geralt wouldn't be hurt or disheartened by what Jaskier would say.

Jaskier loved him. He truly did. With every fibre of who he was. He knew that he would love Geralt until his dying breath, and he knew that in whatever universe they found themselves in, no matter whether monsters were replaced with men or sorceresses with scientists, his heart would belong to Geralt.

He just needed time to trust that Geralt felt the same way.

_Oh, I’d apologize, but it was only self-defence;_

_Running away just made sense._

Geralt had made many mistakes in his life. He had been alive far too long to _not_ have more than a few hundred regrets. But without a doubt, the biggest was letting Jaskier walk away. He had shouted at him, blamed him for everything, and Geralt had regretted that instantly. He had begged Jaskier's forgiveness for that when they met again, had told him how _none of that_ was even remotely true. He had been angry at himself and projecting and treated Jaskier like an easy target and none of that made it any better, but it did mean that he never meant a single word of it.

But while he may regret his words (and by the gods he regretted them), what still plagued his mind and woke him in a cold sweat and with a cry caught in the back of his throat was the sight of Jaskier walking away from him, and Geralt letting him.

"See you around, Geralt."

The last words Geralt had heard in that beautiful voice for so many months, and they had been laced with pain and anguish. And Geralt never turned around.

He would give anything in his power to go back to that day and chase Jaskier down that mountain and hold him and apologise with all his being and beg him to never let go. To beg him not to let Geralt's actions and what others said about Witchers change them. To make sure that Jaskier knew he was appreciated, and wanted, and _loved_.

But he hadn't done any of that. Instead, he had made his own way down from the mountain and turned in the opposite direction. He had fled from Jaskier and the hatred and resentment he had been sure he would find in those blue eyes that once held only joy and love. For the first time in his life, Geralt had run away from a fight. And it had almost ruined him. He vowed now that he would never run from another fight as long as his lungs drew breath.

And he would certainly never run from Jaskier.

_But here I am with arms unfolding._

_I guess it isn't quite the end._

They hadn't meant to meet up again, but it was bound to happen. Nilfgaard wanted Geralt's head on a platter and that put Jaskier in a dangerous position; no matter that they hadn't travelled in months, Nilfgaard would want him as a means to get to Geralt. So, they had both been fleeing from the creeping forces from the south, and their paths were bound to cross once more. And so they did.

Jaskier had barely had time to utter a startled "Geralt–" before the Witcher in question was apologising, saying how wrong he had been and how much he had missed the bard, and how much he wanted him back in his life.

They had found a room in a tavern, and, under Ciri's watchful eyes, had stumbled through a conversation about what had happened, and agreed to start trying to mend the bridges between them. Maybe even reshape them into something better than they had ever been.

There were more conversations needed, of course. For all that Jaskier was a master bard used to baring his soul to the world, Geralt was very much _not_ , and the two of them together tended not so much to _feel_ emotion as to crash from one to another like a wild horse.

But that conversation could wait, as far as Jaskier was concerned. Until the morning, or maybe even longer. Certainly, it could wait until he wasn't curled in his Witcher's arms in a warm bed and with a princess that Jaskier was already coming to love in the bed on the other side of the room. Their love wouldn't end anytime soon. So they may as well put off uncomfortable emotions for a few more hours.

_Old partner in crime, I'm going to try_

_To fall in love with you again_

**Author's Note:**

> I am 100% capitalising on this lockdown-boredom-fueled motivation, cause god knows when it will abandon me. This can be read as a follow up from the first one of these, when Geralt and Ciri walk in on Jaskier singing, if you really want, but they can equally all be considered standalones. Lord knows i'm not writing them in a way that makes any chronological sense.
> 
> This one uses words from dodie's Arms Unfolding (one of these days I will actually use a song from a different artist, I promise), and she described it as being about two of her friends who were learning to fall in love again after hurting each other in the past. Well, if anything describes these idiots, its that.


End file.
